They begin their exit, stepping over the mess carefully and precisely. The dog hampers them by leaping from its master’s lap and yapping, their movement a signal to reengage. As they reach the hallway, Doggett raises his voice over the barking. “You want to be careful with those matches, Joe. Especially with all this paper lying around.”

Tyler opens the front door and steps into the fresh air. He takes a deep breath, relieved to be out of the smoky atmosphere. Doggett follows, slamming the front door behind them and dulling the dog’s objections.

“You realize,” Tyler says, “the fact he sleeps with men does not necessarily make him a pervert. Or a murderer for that matter.”

“He was cautioned for indecent exposure; he’s hardly a pillar of the community.”

“He had consenting sex in the park. You know as well as I do that you could go down there any night and find half a dozen men doing the same thing.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

Tyler follows Doggett back to the car. “That was all for my benefit then? Is that what that was?”

“No need to be paranoid, Sergeant.” Doggett looks back at the cottage. “No, he’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

Tyler follows Doggett’s gaze. The yellow nets at the window are twitching. As angry as he is at the DI’s attitude, he finds himself agreeing. There is something off about the guy; he can feel it, too. Something grubby and unwholesome that went beyond the disarray of the cottage. Still, he’s not about to give Doggett the satisfaction. “Clearly the man has been hiding something his whole life, but what does that have to do with Gerald Cartwright?”

“I’m buggered if I know,” says Doggett. “And that isn’t an invitation.”

“You realize I can report you for shit like that?”

“No doubt.” There’s a smile playing on Doggett’s lips as he opens the car door. “Or you could just punch my lights out.” He gets in.

Tyler yanks open the driver’s door, gets in, and slams it behind him. He turns the key in the ignition and grinds the car into gear. “I’m trying really hard not to do that anymore. At least, not to superior officers.”

The car speeds away from the curb, tires squealing.

“Careful, Detective Sergeant,” says Doggett calmly. “We’re not on a bloody racetrack.”

“Fuck you! Sir.”

“Not on a first date, son. Not on a first date.”

—

By the time Lily reaches the path that leads up to their cottage, she is panting. She crashes through the gate and then bursts through the unlocked front door. “Edna!” She hurries through the kitchen, down the two shallow steps into the dining room, and she stops. “Oh!” They have company.

He gets up to meet her, and her flight is forgotten as he takes her in his strong arms, crushing her against his chest. She’s like a kitten caught by the scruff of the neck; she feels herself go limp.